Letters to You

Dear Suzie,

guess who came over today? Your favourite friend, Marion. Your departure affected him quite a lot too. He tells me over the phone how much he misses you especially when he watches videos of you two. He still can’t believe you’re really gone, neither can we. I didn’t want him to come over yesterday because we were still raw from the pain and the house wasn’t exactly the best place to be in. We didn’t want him to be affected to that extent. But I decided that maybe what he needed was to come over. He needed a place to pour out his grief and to people who would understand and relate – and who other than us?

Walking back home, he started to laugh because that’s how he deals with feeling weird about stuff. He felt weird not seeing you at the gate – everything we already went through. But I had enough strength to be there for him today. We took turns actually. We’ve all been taking turns. We watched videos of you together and we laughed at how adorable you were, or how funny you were. We laughed and smiled and then he’d tear up. The hardest part of today was remembering how you’d come in the room whenever Marion came over because you always wanted to be in his company. While we were watching Jessica Jones, we both recalled and imagined how you used to walk in to my room from the hallway. How we’d hear your footsteps and how you’d just walk in like it’s your usual business to do so. And then we started singing that stupid “bang bang bangity bang” song from How I Met Your Mother and we started to recall how if you’d heard that, you’d come pacing in to the room with your tail wagging and your eyes full of joy because you think we’re playing and you want to be part of that.

I remember how you used to sit between us and I’d tell you “hey, he’s my boyfriend you know?” and then I’d proceed to squeeze you. And as you got older, all you wanted to do was just be around. It didn’t matter anymore if you were sitting in between us, you just wanted to hear our voices while you drifted off to sleep.

I still miss you, Suzie. It’s been 2 days. The pain isn’t as raw but it’s still there. It’s more of an ache. I can smile and laugh more now but when I start talking about you to someone, even as I describe a happy occasion, I would start choking up again and then I’d have to cry. It comes and it goes. I miss you. I miss smelling you, and kissing you, and hugging you, and petting you.

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